“Huu!” Madam Mar exhaled, sending both of them again twirling on a scenic path over the city. Citizens pointed up at them as the dizzying rotations took hold. “We dance the dance, Alan Right,” she repeated over and again until they stopped abruptly between an open tower with a bird statue at the tip.

Alan stared hard at Madam Mar through an open space within the tower, which seemed to be connected by the same airy force his Bubble of Vosh was made of. Heat lines squiggled through the gap like magical columns holding the bird tower in place.

“Firaley Mocona. Duke of the high castle. Lend me your minion!”

Alan’s mind ran a million miles a minute – he could hurl projectiles at a beast if need be, or charge whatever comes out using his Blood Edge ability. Hell, it might wind up with him charging Madam Mar herself if he sensed she was actually trying to kill him. Though he still wasn’t so sure. Something about this whole aggressive tour was off. Like it was a spectacle… or a test.

The nightshade umbrella expanded as the top of the tower cracked and fell into perfect order at Alan’s feet, creating a vast arena between them, connected to their marble floating platforms.

Kaw!

An eagle-headed monster shot up like a spear and dropped just as quickly on the marble, teetering it every which way before Alan could get a good look. Claws like stone dug deep into the ground, connected to legs of pure white muscle leading all the way up to a brown-feathered mane and majestic eagle-head.

Alan recalled Yogi’s wrestling with the Yero and Shiva, and knew this was a time to bring him forth once more – now that an arena was on the table, literally.

Tnnng!

Alan flipped the coin to a flash of blue lightning – where the Borai formed in majestic fashion to defend him.

“A soul negotiated. You are a slaver too, Merchant?” Madam Mar tilted her head.

“A friend,” Alan countered.

“Friends don’t keep each other captive in their coin purses, unless the definition has evolved in these youthful generations.”

“It is an honor to serve noble Alan.” Yogi beat his own chest, armor clinking.

Alan switched his Title back to God Merchant in a flash, syphoning as much Saro to Yogi as he could muster. Why? Because he’d had enough of this test, if that’s what it was.

A quick clairvoyant glance showed the beast’s mane turning into a spiked ring that it used as a weapon, along with rapid claw attacks. The bird-beast was essentially an acrobatic rogue type in minion form.

“Go, Yogi. Body the beast. Suffer its claws and I’ll send all healing your way.” Alan punched his knuckles together and briefly let go of his frustration, shifting his pendant to green while Yogi charged.

Normally, Alan would be enveloped with the expansive agility of the new minion as it flipped with razor-sharp claws to tear Yogi down, but instead he stalked Madam, moving slowly around the battle while syphoning Green Saro into all of Yogi’s fresh wounds.

She was deep in concentration – controlling the beast in a way he didn’t know possible. Like a puppeteer. Usually he’d either guide his minions in some way or support them. But really, what were the benefits of diving right in?

No matter.

That wasn’t today’s lesson.

Fshht!

He hurled an ice bolt at Madam Mar and watched in real-time both a Mageseeker and a beast falter from such a weak spell.

Now, Yogi. Alan clenched his fist in approval when Yogi bear-hugged the beast, crushed its spine, and spun twice before suplexing it straight on the marble floor.

“You can’t borrow a bond, Madam.” Alan folded his arms, then locked eyes with Yogi – who kicked the limp beast off the platform.

Mar gasped, peering over the edge of the arena with both hands over her mouth. “Firaley, I have failed your Spir. Forgive me.” Her expression hardened as she lifted her gaze to Alan, who fist-bumped Yogi and recalled him back into a coin. “The slaver gloats. Well, let’s see how he fares in his own darkness. Huuu!”

The marble arena cracked from its center, debris wooshing past Alan, patching up the magical tower from which it borrowed. Then in a flash, they were off – Madam and Alan – orbiting one another once more.

Alan remained still with his arms folded, wind blowing his hair as he angrily locked eyes with the Mageseeker. “Are we done?”

Madam Mar hooted, holding her netted-stick out to catch whatever stray essence Alan was emitting. “Your darkness is harbored from loss. Yes. I know why you’ve come, Alan Right.”

“I was invited,” Alan said coolly.

“And you accepted… to explore the estate of your friend – Wolfgang Durghowler.” Madam Mar grabbed the net of her dreamcatcher tightly as the platforms stopped.

Alan gritted his teeth, his entire body tensing when he realized the black-brick tower they’d stopped beside was none other than Durger’s. Larger than he envisioned in his trances, sure, but it was one and the same. The star-shaped window, auburn brick roof. He could almost see Wolfgang forging inside.

Come back to me, friend. Alan drew the Soul Collector. If you’re in there… come back.

“The curse of the mad forger.” Madam Mar put away her dreamcatcher and crossed her arms behind her back, staring down at the tower. “A man beloved by the realm, crafting premium weapons for those worthy. The rock of his raid group, taking pride in his armor holding against Deep Blue beasts. Hmph.” She shook her head. “Durghowler has great legacy in Hightower Brack. You should be proud to have known him, in whatever form he may have taken.”

Alan’s anger loosened into sadness. She spoke as if he was never coming back, and even though he was annoyed with her on every dizzying turn, it was hard to ignore a revered mystic’s finality.

He let the awkwardly weighted sword drag his arm down. Whispers and tapping made the metal ting every now and then, speaking to its unrest. An army of souls were veritably fighting to get out, which gave hope that Lucius’ final redeeming act was true – Durger was among them.

The clairvoyant frog vision was another thread of hope, of Durger and his pet standing in ghostly form beside him. Could it be? Could he be summoned like Farante summoned ghosts to fight his battles? Or was this old woman just evoking desperation out of him.

She nodded approvingly toward the tower. “Some say fertile soil helps the blessed resurrections retain potency. Hmph. How about you suffer his creations?” Her eyes glowed yellow, as dirt seeped out of the tower cracks, forming into another arena connected to their platforms. “Know what your friend became in his darkest hour.” She raised her arms, unearthing twitching deformed beasts with a faint yellow shine surrounding each.

A wolf – half-skeleton, half static fur – growled with an unhinged jaw. An ogre limped forward, both eyes hanging out of their sockets. A centaur brandishing two golden blades illuminated an ‘X’ scar across his entire face.

“Behold, the beauty and terror of blessed necromancy.” Mar lowered her hands once her minions were sufficiently summoned.

Alan swapped back to Forbidden Merchant, hoping his sword would become less unwieldly with the power of his Title. No such luck.

“This isn’t you, Durger,” he spoke to the blade as he held it up.

Madam Mar’s face darkened with black veins, all webbing from her bright yellow eyes. She bared her teeth, almost becoming one of Durger’s minions herself. “Rip him limb-from-limb!”

Alan held firm as the wolf charged first. “Look, Durger. Is this you?” He ducked the first dive and swung the blade while turning a one-eighty. Too slow. The wolf dashed out of the way as the ogre came rushing from the other side – kicking up dirt with every stomp.

Pomf! The ogre slammed its club, sending a patch of dirt trickling down into the sky.

Alan somersaulted out of the way at the last second, fighting not only the beasts, but the weight of the dark blade. He had a newfound respect for Lucius and Farante. Then again, they both had armor Alan never bothered to gather. Do gauntlets really provide that much strength?

Clang!

Alan threw up his blade to clash against the centaur’s. Sparks and shadows exploded outward, as did a heavenly chorus.

The hell?

Alan dashed again, summoning a pool of lava that spat a secondary sword he’d never seen before.

“See?” Madam Mar’s voice devolved into a scowl. “Oranage and Black. Dark Saro origins.”

The centaur galloped alongside the wolf. Blessed Yellow Saro teemed through their fur, forcing Alan to go dark – recalling times where he wronged people on Earth, digging deep to find unforgivable actions. Watching a security guard beat a homeless man senseless for drunkenly grabbing Alan by the collar. He should’ve stopped the guard. All he was doing was exercising his rage, and Alan let him, because he felt assaulted. But it was wrong.

He relished in the memory because that’s what Black Saro was, he realized.

Tongues of slithery dark essence beamed from both blades – orange and black. And what followed, Alan wasn’t even sure he was capable of.

Soul Collector

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Ability: Black Barrage – Embrace the spirit of fallen Bladesmen by calling on their strength. Beware: there is no rest until targeted foes fall.

A surge of power rushed through his veins – his eyes leaking black smoke that tunneled his vision. It felt like an uncontrollable balloon inflating from his heart. “Ahh!” He charged, blocking one of the centaur’s blades and attacking with a flurry of unrelenting strikes with the other. His attacking hand was a blur, slicing yellow-light cracks in the reanimated beast before its second arm could even react.

Clang!

Alan blocked again, igniting another flurry of stabs from the Soul Collector. The blade was no longer heavy. In fact, it was weightless as he stabbed into the horse body and lopped off its arm. Alan then jumped, using what was left of the centaur’s torso to kick off of and dive to meet the wolf midair.

Shnnk!

He opened the wolf from throat to belly, letting its corpse roll until it was nothing but a light-leaking pile of fur. With gritted teeth, Alan shouted and chaotically windmill-ed his arms, hurling both blades right into the ogre’s heart.

When he was done, Alan summoned two small pools of lava, knelt, and redrew his weapons while staring hard at Madam Mar.

“So smug.” Mar bared her teeth. “But now you will learn a great lesson in the ways of blessed necromancy. Do you know how Yellow Saro generals defeat powerful armies? They tire them out.” Her eyes glowed vibrant yellow as she raised her arms once more.

Blindingly bright cones of light shot up from the dirt, surrounding the corpses Alan just desecrated. With another chorus of heavenly song, his enemies rose again with stitched up wounds.

Exhaustion claimed Alan from a demoralizing mix of witnessing his efforts count for nothing and expending that much Saro for a single attack. He needed Durger more than ever to coach him out of this – which gave him his next idea. He glared at Madam Mar and the three creatures, then at Durghowler castle not far off platform.

Screw it.

He sprinted over the dirt and leapt high in the air. An instinctive windy thought spawned a White Saro slipstream to adjust his trajectory, leaving him to flip right through the large star-shaped window.

Rolling right over a dusty carpet, he crashed into a bookshelf that he held up with his foot.

Easy. He held up his hands just in case, then sighed with relief when the shelf settled in place. He immediately drew the Soul Collector and waved it around in hopes Durger could see. Opposite him was a largely crafted stone seat with an anvil on the table in front of it. Ornate smelting tools stood neatly in place like attentive soldiers. Old dusty pictures of Durghowler and his group hung crooked on the walls… and a sole portrait of his pet, Sir Ooman, beside them. It was a cute creature, like an overly hairy dog back on Earth.

“I’m here, buddy,” Alan said, snapping his fingers to ignite a flame and tossing it gingerly toward the half-melted candle across the way. “Your home.” He shook his head. “There’s no better way I can think of to evoke a soul. Come back, Durger.”

“Raaaa!” Madam Mar screeched as she dove off the dirt path, hands held up like a clawing witch.

Alan scoffed and barricaded the windows with frozen White Saro. “C’mon.” He waved the blade closer to the forge, the pictures, the toys scattered across the floor. “This has to have been one of your rooms. I remember the vision as something closer to the ground, but maybe you magically built-up the tower or something. Look. Aren’t these Sir Ooman’s?” He picked up a silver ball that rattled with every move.

The blade started to shake uncontrollably, forcing Alan to grip it with two hands. Whispers turned to pleas, but they were still unintelligible.

Radiating Blue Saro through the blade did nothing to help him understand it.

“You aren’t allowed to trespass, Merchant! This is not your home to walk!” Mar shouted from beyond the ice, knocking slabs of it inward only for them to be replaced by a flick of Alan’s wrist.

“Alan!” a familiar voice sent goosebumps prickling his arms.

“Durger!” he exhaled with happiness, falling to his knees.

“Alan!” Durger’s voice was frantic, sounding faraway, drowned.

“Yes, I’m here. Look! I made it to your estate!” He held up the blade. “It’s just how you left it, I think.”

“Alan, there’s no time!” the voice faded deeper into the blade.

“What? What do you mean?”

“L—”

“What? Durger? I lost you.” Alan hit the flat of the blade like it was a malfunctioning speaker. He then did the more sensible thing of flooding the blade with angry Black Saro. It wasn’t so hard considering an annoying Mageseeker possessed by Yellow Saro kept trying to claw her way in.

Wsssssh!

Out from the blade flew an ethereal version of the man Alan once saw in his visions. Big, burly, with a braided beard and kind eyes.

“Durger!” Alan’s expression brightened.

“By the ferns of Samasia, my home.” Durger tugged at his thick hair in shock. “My forge.” He went to go touch it, but then held back at the last second, remembering himself. He turned abruptly. “Sir Alan.”

“Yes, friend.” Alan’s smile dropped to match Durger’s expression.

“Lucius never surrendered the blade in full. He attached a piece of his soul to it and has been stalking you since. Get back to that stable, now.” Durger’s form flickered. “He’s unhinged, Alan. The failed attempt at getting home only riled him further. I fear—” His form flickered, almost to naught. “Get back, Alan. Now!” Was the last echo he heard before Durger’s essence flew back into the blade.

Shit!

Alan scoffed in anger, frustrated with all the banging outside. He faced the barricaded star window he flew in from – knowing Madam Mar was right outside from the clawing noises, so he commanded a gust of White Saro wind to help her along.

Fssh!

When she flew in, Alan held out his arm stiff, catching her by the throat with the blade held to her nose. “Your charade is over. Take us back to your tower.” He looked her hard in her yellow-possessed eyes, turned her hands to icy blocks when she attempted to claw him, then summoned a molten pool that he threateningly bowed her head toward. “I know you’re just trying to impress your god,” he whispered. “That’s what this is all about. Junos likes to be entertained. I’ve seen you compete for his attention time and time again.” He leaned closer to her face. “I don’t care how close you are. Take us back.”

Her eyes faded from yellow back to forest green, frown deepening. “You knew?”

Alan released the hold on her neck and yanked her by the collar, up to the star-shaped windowsill, waiting for his platform to come scoop them. He shook her to make sure she understood how serious he was. “No more games. Elkire is in danger.”

Alan blinked away prompts in his vision as the platform zoomed up to him.

Junos is impressed with your valor. Matching the realm’s Mageseeker in both Saro and summoning is not something taken lightly. Behold! You are blessed to hear Junos’ voice!

“The gods whisper about you, Alan Right, and now I have witnessed.

And yet… you bring dark tidings to our realm.”

Don’t worry, Junos. I will be leaving as fast as I can, Alan spoke in his head, knowing the god could hear him. He stepped onto the platform and tossed Madam Mar down on it, holding the blade to her neck. It was irresponsible of me to accept Elkire’s invite, knowing the dark cloud that follows my every move.

“A noble thought, albeit a bit late.”

Lucius has acted, then? The platform zoomed back toward Madam Mar’s tower in a wide orbit – passing all the others Alan bested.

“Elkire and the Legion of Fate are a zealous lot who bring honor to Hightower Brack, even if they are misunderstood. You, Forbidden Merchant, have single handedly destroyed their plight.”

Alan gritted his teeth. What did you do, Lucius?

The platform flew into the tower – where Elkire, Tenger, and Irana awaited. The three of them were shocked to see Madam Mar on her back, but before they could react, Alan sheathed his dark blade and grabbed Elkire by the shoulders.

“We have to run to the stables, now.”

His brow furrowed. “The stables? Quite possibly the safest place in the realm. No one outside our group can access them.”

The nightshade umbrella dissipated to remove the nighttime effect all around them. With the sun, so too came screams from far away.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. A Stalker who was part of my group followed us in,” Alan said, then looked to the others.

“Junos tells of darkness in him.” Madam Mar pointed.

“And you’re nothing but a clout chaser.” Alan pointed back. “But these people… I respect them, and I don’t want to see their progress hindered. C’mon.” He pulled Elkire by the arm and rushed down the spiral stairs.

“What transpired with Madam, Alan?” Elkire rushed beside him.

“She tried to get Junos’ eye,” Alan said.

“But of course. Impressing our god is common practice. She means well and meant to test you in the process.”

“It was a trap. The Stalker was waiting for the first opportunity to steal our Pegs,” Alan said.

“Impossible.”

They burst into the open air to cries of fire in the distance. The smell of smoke and hazy fog already reached them, making Alan’s heart fall into his belly. No. The gryphons!

He rushed on with the others, down the squiggly alley and across the city bridges, back to the outskirts of the high wall. As soon as they made it around the bend, flames the size of buildings roared from the stables, with White Saro Wizards failing to battle it.

“Enchanted flames! We cannot snuff them out!” a singed Wizard called.

Elkire fell to his knees in horror. “Myra!” Tears leaked from his eyes.

“It is hellfire tinged with Black Saro, Alan,” Durger whispered, his ethereal face appearing in Alan’s periphery. “White will do nothing. It is blessed Yellow that would overcome it.”

“Noted.”

Tenger and Irana sprinted straight for the fire, while Alan did his best to snuff out dark thoughts against Lucius.

Fooled again. Alan did his best to suppress his anger, and envisioned everything holy he’d ever imagined. Pearly gates of heaven in his dreams, the frog visions showing his father, it all worked to click his pendant to pure yellow facets that then bolstered the Saro in each of his hands.

Alan approached the roaring flames with taunting black demon faces in the center of each tongue. It reminded him of Doomsayer curses. Had Lucius already started his own dark army of Stalkers to do his bidding?

“You’ll pay for this, Lucius.” Alan extended his arms all the way back, then with a forceful grunt, clapped them forward to release a gust of holy wind. The dark fire writhed from Alan’s force. It squirmed and clung and cried before finally evaporating to harmless embers.

What remained was a grim sight. Unmoving gryphons curled up in their cages.

Alan’s limbs froze when he glimpsed them. His heart ached to the point he felt powerless.

“Myra!” Elkire rushed forward.

“Healer! Send for Healers!” Tenger shouted from the cages – giving Alan a pang of hope. He was a Healer.

His limbs unfroze, momentarily shedding the immense guilt. He ducked under the plumes of smoke to see Myra curled up taking labored breaths, Elkire weeping beside her. Its ear was burnt nearly off, and her snout was rimmed with soot.

“Hold on, girl.” Alan knelt, coughing while trying to concentrate on serenity. It came almost instinctively at this point since he’d been practicing for months every night. Replenishing himself was easy, yet healing others remained difficult.

I have to try.

He pressed his hands on the gryphon’s fur. Once his Saro depleted nearly to naught, he considered swapping his Selfless Merchant Title for a humble lowly Merchant, surrendering to fate. Not yet. Other Healer-types rushed past him to the remaining trapped beasts, calling orders to one another. Alan wanted to yell for help – that his Green Saro wouldn’t be enough, but he couldn’t break concentration, not in a dire situation like this.

“It’s okay, girl, hang in there.” Elkire hugged her.

Alan could feel Myra’s failing heart, the smoke rolling in her lungs, all of the pain. He’d never felt so connected to another creature before. This was even more potent than the time he tried to control Yogi. He had to know the creature’s pain so he could extract it.

Is this why Neera wanted to abandon her Saro-given skills?

The process proved intricate – he had to home in on one damaged organ at a time. It wasn’t as simple as revitalizing energy to remove fatigue like he performed nightly. This was more… combative. Remove foreign harmful substances so the body could repair itself using its own connection to Saro. He realized this while envisioning Myra’s life-force creep back into her lungs as he fanned out the smoke.

As dark as the situation was – hope brimmed.

I need this, Alan begged. These people don’t deserve what I brought unto them.

Twenty minutes of mayhem passed, and finally, after an exhaustive process, Myra was in stable condition. Alan struggled to get to his feet so he could look over Myra’s burnt cage. A cover flapped over Irana’s gryphon, which saddened Alan tremendously. But the others seemed to be pulling through.

He expected a blade to his neck when she came to, and what’s worse, the small balding Fate member, known as Nulge, came stomping up to Elkire. “Our Pegs… they’re all gone.”

Alan knew that already, but seeing the man’s expression brought new life to the theft.

“I figured as much.” Elkire’s lips folded inward. “We take a hard blow today, Nulge.”

“All is not lost.” Alan rose and dug out his map. “If Lucius did this, it was to distract us because he needs time to portal out. He used yours to follow us in. So now, he’s stuck here, fighting your gods will, right?”

Nulge squinted angrily at Alan. The foundation of trust – both of them being from Earth – evaporated with the flames.

“Punish me later,” Alan said, unfurling his map. “We have a prince to catch.”